


the edge of tonight

by TheHiddenPassenger



Series: California 2019 [1]
Category: All Time Low, Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHiddenPassenger/pseuds/TheHiddenPassenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toxic Valentine's had a crush on Cherri Cola for a while. Their crew is pretty tight, however, so the consequences of a botched relationship are dire. Valentine has been waiting for the right moment to come clean with it, but fate has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the edge of tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DangerDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerDuchess/gifts).



> Danger Days 'verse wherein Cherri is Alex Gaskarth and his crew is the rest of the band. Toxic Valentine is Jack, Whiskey Princess is Rian and Static Collision is Zack. It's worth noting that this takes place in a different version of the danger days world than my major work "I am not the Phoenix that you wanted" co-authored with DangerDuchess

The ACME was dark when Toxic Valentine pulled up. He was careful not to shine his lights into any windows as he switched the truck off and hauled his lanky ass out of the cab. Tonight was the night he was going to try and get something started with his best friend, Cherri Cola. He'd even nicked a ring on his way out of Bat' City.

A couple of laser burns were nothing for the payout. Valentine had food—good food—and toiletries like crazy. There were condoms, toothbrushes, paste, bandaids, a couple of first aid kits and miscellaneous other useful items.

Wrenching the rusted tailgate of his truck downward, he leaned forward and slid the first of the boxes off.

His bowlegged walk was typical of his long forays into the desert to perform one of the few high-paying jobs left in the post-apocalyptic world they called home. Toxic Valentine was a pornstar, known onscreen as Big V. The Lost Boys knew, of course, had even sampled a couple of his films. He wasn't ashamed of it, but Valentine had promised himself that as soon as he told Cherri how he felt about him, he'd cut way back on it.

Shit was profitable, but risky.

The pornodroids that ran the largest zone porn distributor in the desert were great employers. Their sensors kept actors healthy, safe and happy. They monitored each of their workers for injury and infirmity before and after every shoot. They only required the occasional journey into Battery City to retrieve coveted, rare, battery packs.

Fortunately for Valentine—and the pornodroids—the lanky killjoy was excellent at both acting and infiltration, so he always got them what they wanted and they always paid well. It was at least 100 carbons a scene. After all, what did a bunch of robots need those for, anyway?

As he moved the last box in, Valentine stretched, cracked his back and dug into his pocket to make sure the simple, platinum ring was still there. He bit his lower lip in a goofy grin as he realized how tightly he was clinging to this stupid idea. Likely, Cherri would just roll his eyes and swat the ring away. Jewelry was a mistake in the desert!

But the gesture would count.

He made his way through the dark theater, known to his exhausted brain the way he knew the back of his own hand. The burns on his chest and back were hardly even a twinge as Valentine turned the last corner to the hallway that held the bedrooms.

He nearly had a collision with Static Collision.

“Whoa—hey man,” Collision grunted, half asleep. He sobered up pretty quick once he realized his friend was headed directly for bed. Collision grasped Valentine by the shoulders and cleared his throat. “Hey, hang on, lemme see what you brought. I can help you put it away so it doesn't spoil, alright?”

For a long time, Static Collision had been harboring strange feelings for Toxic Valentine. He couldn't explain what, exactly, it was, until he looked into those tired, baffled eyes and his heart skipped a beat. He was glad to have Valentine back, knew he'd been to the city by the burns on his jacket, the limp...

“I'm tired, brother,” Valentine moaned, wriggling out of his friend's grasp. “Lemme get some shut-eye. I'll show you all tomorrow, okay?”

“You were working, right?” Collision continued, for some reason stubbornly blocking Valentine's path with his broad chest and shoulders. “And you went into the city. I can see the burns. Let's get you patched up so that shit doesn't get infected, huh?”

He grabbed Valentine by the wrist, refusing to take no for an answer. The gangly killjoy was so tired, he had nothing left in him to resist and so he allowed Static Collision to pull him into their kitchen area. Collision set about tugging at Valentine's jacket and shirt, speeding him along to taking it off. This pulled a tired chuckle from the man.

“Usually they pay me to, like, slow down, you dig?”

Collision couldn't help laughing at that one. He'd seen the stuff Valentine worked on. It was good...almost too good. His cheeks were a deep crimson, but he'd left the lights off and was working by the moonlight through the window to conserve electricity. As Valentine's jacket fell from his shoulders, the damage was revealed to be a bit more extensive than first anticipated.

“Tug that shirt off, man—and whatever you've got under it; those wounds are ugly,” Collision tried to disguise the worry in his voice as he moved backward to retrieve a lamp from the nearby counter top. They had a couple of overhead lights, but those sapped more electricity than necessary for such a small task.

“Alright... sure...” Toxic Valentine responded, grasping his t-shirt at the back of his neck and pulling it up and over his head. The action mussed dual-toned hair, but not beyond how it normally sat. He tossed the ruined clothing to the ground and leaned his rear-end on the sink counter area. He still had his signature bubblegum pink brassiere on.

“That, too,” Collision grunted, jerking his head toward Valentine as if to indicate the undergarment, like his friend needed more specification. Toxic Valentine reached up behind himself and unclasped the thing, dropping it gently from his shoulders and tossing it aside, sure to aim for clothing so as not to muss it up with grime from the floor. Usually he kept something in the cups—a flashlight, cigarettes, candy... today there was nothing and so he let it fall.

Meanwhile, Static Collision had set up a reliable lamp to the right side of their two-compartment sink and was fiddling with the bulb, making certain it was tightly screwed in. Really, it was to occupy himself long enough to steel his eyes for what was sure to be equal parts bloody and gorgeous.

He really hated himself sometimes. There was no reason he should have been so attracted to Valentine. The man had never shown Collision any kind of interest or affection beyond what he showed any other 'runner. It was maddening, watching someone you liked pining after someone else—Valentine couldn't possibly understand.

Or did he?

“I've ah... got something for Cherri,” Valentine grunted suddenly, fishing into his pocket for the ring. He didn't know why he was showing Collision this crazy, stupid object, but the skunk-haired killjoy was exhausted and his wits were anything but about him.

“Whassat?” Collision grunted as the light switched on and momentarily blinded them both. Valentine groaned and closed his fist around the ring quickly, stuffing it back into his pocket as the bulb's initial flash sobered him up.

“Ahm... nah, nothin',” Valentine corrected himself and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes to shove away the pain of his pupils contracting too quickly. Once the haze wore off and he was able to look down, Valentine wished he hadn't. He swallowed hard.

“Relax, Val', I've got you,” Collision promised, soaking a rag with antiseptic, “but this is gunna burn.”

Toxic Valentine gritted his teeth and nodded, knowing that the pain was only going to be temporary and that it was for the greater good. Well, _his_ greater good, anyway. The rag contacted his flesh and there was a moment of chill, followed by an agonizing burn. Valentine yelped once but his machismo wouldn't let him cry.

“It should be pretty clean,” he grunted, wincing as Collision began scrubbing.

“Yeah, brother, _should_ and _are_ are two different things,” responded the well-built killjoy, shaking his head and grinning. No matter the situation, Toxic Valentine remained charming and downright charismatic. Collision of all people noted this and understood it almost a bit too intimately.

“Come on man,” Valentine moaned, “go easy on me.”  
Collision felt his dick stiffen. He mentally begged it to stop this nonsense, but to absolutely no avail. Valentine noticed and chortled.

“Alright,” Collision snapped, rubbing one of his friend's wounds perhaps a bit too hard, “no more porn voice.”

Toxic Valentine shrieked, grasping at Collision's thick, powerful wrist and yanking it away from his torso. The pseudo-medic's eyes widened at the sudden show of force and he raised his other hand in surrender.

“I'm sorry,” he grunted, “it's just...that voice...”

“Yeah, I know, it's my job,” Valentine snapped irritably, “and right now, you've made cleaning my wounds _yours_.”

Collision bit back a nasty retort, shoulders slumping with defeat as he reminded himself where Valentine had been mere hours before his return. Instead of lashing out, he thanked the man.

“We...really appreciate your raids into Bat' City,” he mumbled, “even though I know Cherri gets all upset about it.”

Upon mention of Cherri Cola, Valentine's attention was garnered almost immediately and without division.

“Oh yeah?” Valentine blew a raspberry into the air as Collision went back to cleaning his wounds. “Typical Sister Cherri-beth Chastity.”

His derogatory nicknames for Cherri Cola were born of pure affection. This particular monicker had been a spur of the moment ad lib when Valentine found out Cherri had actually been coerced into watching one of his racier videos by their other two teammates.

“He cares about you,” Collision reminded him, “about all of us. He'd be a shitty leader if he didn't, right?”

Toxic Valentine tuned out after that first bit. He wanted nothing more than for Cherri Cola to be in love with him the same way _he_ was. They'd been friends in the city, back when it was just transitioning from the City of Angels to the horrid, bleached-out shell it was now. Hell, Val' and Cherri had been roommates—which was why they'd left together.

“Right?” Collision grunted, trying to ascertain whether Valentine's zoning was due to his mention of Cherri or the pain of his wounds. Once he was sure the first wound was clean, he moved to the next with little warning. Valentine let out a broken shriek.

“Why's that one hurt so much?”

“It's probably deeper,” Collision responded, “turn around.”

Valentine pushed off the sink and did as asked, bracing himself for whatever his friend was about to do. If the situation had been different, the thicker-built killjoy could have thought of several hundred things he'd have done. Right now, however, the matching wound on Valentine's back concerned him far more than the tightness of his pants.

“What?” Valentine detected the silence of held breath. He had his hand clasped over the first wound, which had dwindled to a burning ache. The second was beyond agony.

“It was a solid hit,” Collision muttered, “and...ah...it went all the way through.”

Toxic Valentine's heart stopped. Why was he still alive? His gut was a block of ice as Collision laid a hand on his lower back and held it there.

“I'm—I should be dead,” he choked, “it's...it hurts so much....”

“Probably the adrenaline's all gone and I've got this antiseptic seeping in one side,” Collision reasoned, lifting the rag with his unoccupied hand to the back wound. Clearly it had missed any vital organs and likely the laser itself had cauterized anything in between, mercifully preventing internal leakage. “You'll be okay, I think; just don't push it, for fuck's sake.”

The reassurance and explanation didn't do much to ease Valentine's nerves. He just wanted to go to bed, close his eyes, turn over and see Cherri, like usual. The truck was probably all shot up, too, he reckoned, but was too tired to do anything but pray the agony stopped soon.

“Let's wrap this shit up, man; I'm fucking exhausted,” he begged, leaning heavily on the counter and gripping it with white knuckles to hold back any sort of sound that might have come out as Collision cleaned his wound. He arched and hissed and bit down hard, but refused to cry.

“I'm so sorry, Val', but this is...I have to make sure it's clean, or it'll kill you,” responded Collision, fixated on his task. The wound could not be stitched and so several bandages would have to do. Fortunately, Valentine brought a bunch of first aid kits from Bat' City and they were therefore well-equipped.

It was one of these Static Collision now sought, warning Valentine he'd be “right back” and ducking out of the kitchen for the truck. This allowed the skunk-haired man to sink to the floor against the cabinets and choking back sobs of sudden fear. The realization he almost died was beginning to sink in and he'd gotten the shakes. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Valentine chewed on his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to imagine a warm bed, sheets swathed around him, soft pillow under his head.

Collision returned to a pitiful—if dark—scene. He swallowed a gasp and clutched the first aid kit tighter. Valentine heard the motion of Collision's entrance and jerked his gaze upward.

“Easy,” he muttered, “just turn around, lean against the counter on your knees—so if you fall, you won't fall far.”

The logic was sound and Valentine was in no state to argue. He did as asked, the counter chilly under his armpits as his upper arms crossed over the split of the sink basins. Collision had fished a flashlight from another one of Valentine's goodie bags and was holding it in his mouth to see his work better. He laid a bandage over the wound on Valentine's back.

“Put these on your front, okay?” Collision instructed, setting two next to Valentine on the counter. He wasn't about to reach around his friend to feel for wounds he couldn't see, and the one on his back was most comfortable. Valentine leaned back, settling on his heels to stick both to the burns on chest and torso.

“I've got 'em,” Valentine said, straightening and leaning once more on the counter. Collision had the wrap bandages at the ready, just waiting to secure the adhesive bandages.

“And I've...” Collision mumbled, wrapping his arms suddenly around Valentine, clutching the bandages in one hand but with almost no intention of using them, “got you.”

Valentine stiffened only a moment and then sank helplessly back into Static Collision's chest, unable to fight the weakness that had overcome him. The muscular killjoy buried his face in his friend's dual-toned hair and squeezed him tight. There weren't words to express the relief he felt that Valentine was still with them. Having a visual representation of how close he'd come to death was enough to shake them both.

“I'll... get you all patched up,” whispered Collision, gently easing Valentine off him. Valentine straightened and resumed his pose against the sink, content to suffer in silence as Collision wrapped his torso to keep the bandages in place. Not too tight, not too loose. Usually Whiskey Princess acted as the medic of the group, but Collision had been paying attention.

“I'm gunna be fine, right?” Valentine asked, his voice a helpless whimper. He needed this reassurance, more than craved it, required it.

“You will, uh huh,” Collision responded, “all patched up and ready to go.”

Valentine was the group's Berserker. He was what some killjoys called kissed by the Phoenix and stronger for it. Killjoy squads tended to form this way, with at least one person with a bit more punch than the others. Physically speaking, it was probably acute radiation poisoning, but given the lack of sickness and such, many zone runners believed it to be spiritual. It was this that probably accounted for at least part of his surviving not one, but two blaster wounds to the torso.

Never had Static Collision been more grateful for his friend's abnormality. The likelihood of any of them not walking back through the front doors of the ACME Comedy Theater was too high for his taste, but such was reality. They were zone runners, more specifically killjoys and they lived and died by the static in the wind, the battery packs in their blasters and with masks on.

Once Static Collision was done wrapping his friend up, he backed off, stood and stretched, knowing he couldn't help any more than he already had. Valentine turned and pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the sink a few moments more.

“You gunna make it? 'Cause you can crash on the couch or whatever—closer to the bathroom,” Collision grunted, a weak suggestion given the way his friend looked just then. Valentine shook his head and shoved off the sink.

“Cherri's probably still awake—guy can't sleep alone,” responded Toxic Valentine with a weak smirk. Collision offered a noncommittal grunt and shook his head. He seemed tense, but Valentine was too exhausted to care. He hobbled toward the back hallway while Collision retreated to _his_ room.

As Toxic Valentine entered the back recesses of the theater, something felt off. It smelled different...or something. He didn't know. It was probably just his adrenaline or something. Laying fingers on the door handle, he gave it a twist and a shove.

The Phoenix Kiss in his blood gave Toxic Valentine a few things, other than his zone name. He was stronger, a bit quicker and, more than that, had excellent night vision. The dark was no obstacle to him and so the depth of shadow in the room he shared with Cherri Cola did not stop him seeing the other body in bed with his...crush?

“Oh,” Valentine's mouth hung open with the single syllable that said so much and so little all at once. It was rage, jealousy, disappointment, disgust, sadness, and a strange melancholy which now coursed through his mind like whitewater rapids. There was no cataract down which this could all tumble, however, as the usual venue of his mouth soon snapped shut along with the door— _his_ door.

Valentine's journey out of the theater was much quicker than his slogging pace in. He passed all the boxes he'd hauled in and shouldered his way through the front doors. Collision's voice rang in his head, muffled and distant. Maybe he was calling the gangly guy back, or maybe it was all in Valentine's head. The only solid sound was his boots on the sand, and then the angry rev of the truck's engine.

It mimicked some of his internal turmoil, but not all. Being in a growling truck wasn't enough. He stepped on the clutch and was about to take off when something solid hit the opposite door and yanked it open. Static Collision barreled in as Valentine downshifted and put pedal to metal, as it were. They took off into the desert, destination unknown.

Collision wasn't going to ask Valentine to slow down, or stop, but there was no damn way to get through to him like this. There was also no way he was going to leave his friend alone. So many thoughts were buzzing around in both of their heads, it would have sounded like an angry nest of hornets, had it been audible. The only sound at that point, however, was the roar of the truck's engine and its tires on the uneven desert terrain.

Valentine drove east, toward the lights of Battery City. He pulled up short on a bluff overlooking a vast expanse of nearly-barren wasteland. It was only then that he disengaged the vehicle and sat back, shoulders slumping helplessly. Several minutes of pregnant silence followed. The chill of the desert settled upon them and a shudder coursed through Valentine's body.

Collision had been holding his breath, but upon noting his friend's shiver, he exhaled and turned his body to face Valentine. A tentative hand moved forward to rest against the bright-colored leather of Toxic Valentine's jacket. The man flew bright colors, as did most killjoys, loud and bold—though in the muted light of the desert night hid the vivid hues.

“My colors fly better under the sun,” Valentine mumbled, eyes downcast. He was focused on nothing but the space between the two of them, the void which held only air and more thoughts than either could put to voice.

“Maybe,” Collision agreed, nodding, “but the moon is the sun's reflection, so it's really not a fair contest.”

A big, calloused hand slid up Valentine's clothed arm and rested on his shoulder, squeezing to let the man know he was not alone. Of course, objectively speaking, Toxic Valentine was very much aware there was another person in the cab of his truck with him; the touch was more for emotional reassurance. The next step would be sliding his entire, beefy, tattooed arm around his friend, but he didn't want to move too quickly. Valentine was in shock.

“That was fucking cheesy,” Toxic Valentine warned, wanting to pull away from Collision's touch, but at the same time found himself completely unable to do so. He was desperate for human contact. It wasn't as though Cherri Cola had _dumped_ him. Valentine _knew_ Cherri was into Kobra Kid. He just hadn't anticipated timing.

“Yeah but... y'know it's true,” Collision offered. He was a man of few words, but was more than willing to chat with Valentine to keep him safe, sane, and honest... but most importantly, alive. “Please keep talking.”

“Huh? Why?” For the first time in that small space, Toxic Valentine allowed his gaze to drift upward and meet his friend's. Static Collision had gentle, green eyes, befitting his quiet demeanor. They reminded Valentine of greenery he hadn't seen in an age and a half.

“Because when you stop, it means you're hurting,” mumbled Static Collision, voice barely above a whisper. He knew Valentine better than the killjoy knew himself and for some reason, the skunk-haired desert warrior was comfortable with this. Right now, he didn't really _want_ to know himself.

The air between them was still and he couldn't conjure words to fill it. Collision solved the problem by filling it himself, with his lips. Valentine was a massive flirt. Hands down pants, up shirts, on asses, jumping on the other lost boys, even stress-relieving sex with Cherri Cola—all of these things were on his “have done” list, but kissing Static Collision was in another ballpark, one of affection and closeness.

He thought he'd have been able to avoid that. They were his friends, that was all. He was in love with Cherri—or had been... Something snapped that night and shut off a valve within Toxic Valentine. It was his best-kept secret and his biggest mistake, to fall in love with his best friend and then not to move on it when impending loss was staring him in the face through the lenses of reflective aviators.

Collision's mouth was gentle, lips soft on his, just pressing forward and not moving quite yet. A hand settled itself on one thigh, squeezing that lightly, at least.

“Hey,” Collision whispered against Valentine's lips, “anyone home?”

Toxic Valentine grunted, grasping either side of his friend's face with big, grubby, rough hands. A quick shift and the gangly killjoy was straddling Collision, whose hands knew exactly where to go, settling themselves on bony hips.

“Gentle, okay? Easy,” the muscular zone runner protested, “you're still full of holes.”

“You bet I am,” Valentine's response was entirely inappropriate and completely expected, which was one of Collision's favorite things about him.

“Not those, fuckwit,” responded Collision with some force, grasping Valentine's hips hard enough to stop him moving. Valentine groaned and sighed, leaning his head on Collision's thick shoulder. He couldn't deny the pain, not this time. Usually, Toxic Valentine could shrug off just about anything those zombified zone runners could throw at him.

“You're hurt, bad,” Collision reminded him in a gentler tone, “and I'm sorry I kissed you—I should've known.”

“Why are you apologizing?” The impact of his forehead against Collision's was almost damaging and the latter felt his head spin for just a moment, stars exploding behind green eyes.

“Because I... love you, Val'; I think I have for a long time and... I know my timing is shitty but—“

It was all Toxic Valentine needed to hear. He pressed his lips forward once more, this time with less hesitance and more raw urgency. He did his best not to move the rest of his body, though the urge to roll his hips was overwhelming. He didn't know if he _loved_ Static Collision, not just yet, but... it was odd. Valentine felt like he could learn to. Or maybe they could just fuck and he could detach and forget it all. Whatever happened, he was content not to think about seeing another body in bed with Cherri.

What an odd sensation. He couldn't help relishing it, as if tasting a new flavor. He thought he couldn't feel anything like that for anyone other than Cherri, but maybe...just maybe. Collision was hoping so, that was for sure. He was patient—had waited and watched since they'd met. Of course, he had enough tact not to actually try and excise one from the other, but as soon as it had become clear that Cherri was into another guy, Collision had begun moving in.

At first it had been little things, like helping Valentine repair his truck. It escalated into collecting all his pornographic films and imagining _he_ was with Valentine instead of whoever the well-hung stud always was. That bit would probably have seemed crazy back in the city, but out here in the zones, there really were very few rules.

Static Collision was not a predator. He had been willing to wait for Cherri to make his move on Kobra Kid, which the man did. The muscular killjoy had not anticipated the timing being so awful, or the reveal actually breaking Toxic Valentine's heart. This wound, he was not sure he could heal, team medic or otherwise.

“That was Kid in there,” Valentine mumbled finally. Of course he'd known the whole time, but saying it aloud made it real and cemented his loss. “I really missed it...by like, a fucking day.”

“It ah....” Collision hesitated, but forced himself to continue, “it's been about a week or two, man... you've been gone a while. I know you lose track of time out there—err, just... yeah, Kid's been hanging with our crew and ah...with Cherri a while.”

Toxic Valentine's shoulders slumped helplessly. He'd really fucked this one up. Of course it wasn't as though Valentine had not been obvious. He and Cherri had fucked, for heaven's sake! They might have even said the forbidden three words at some point, but to be fair, both of them were probably high or drunk or just fucked up tired. It just hadn't been right, and that was that.

“I've...got to let go,” Valentine sighed, his breath warm on Collision's ear. Collision squeezed him closer, gently. His arms stayed around Valentine and kept him close.

“You don't _have_ to,” Collision pointed out, “but I think you should.”

Static Collision was right, of course. They were a crew, a team. In the field, they couldn't afford to have diversions or divisions. Something like this would prove to be both, if Valentine let it.

“I think the worst bit is... that he won't even notice, if I don't let him,” Valentine mumbled. Cherri Cola was a sweet guy and a decent leader. He was the best shot the desert had ever seen. He was not, however, particularly perceptive to emotions or nuances like romance, unless he felt it himself.

“That's for the best,” Static Collision insisted rather firmly, “you and I both know that.”

Valentine nodded, knowing Collision was right, that pain and disparity between the two of them would do nothing for team chemistry. Fucking your friends, however, now that was a complete exception to that rule... Right?

Collision grasped Valentine's hips tight and shifted him off, back to the driver's side. He made it clear there would be no shenanigans that evening while Toxic Valentine was full of holes.

“Okay, yeah...” Valentine sighed, bracing his arms on the steering wheel and his forehead on those, “yeah, I... Hey, I've got a wad of blankets in the back... I can't sleep in my own fucking room, so I'm staying out here.”

“Drac patrols, man,” Collision reminded him.

“Not until late afternoon, or early evening and further north,” responded Valentine easily. He knew the draculoid patrols better than any of them; he had to, given his occupation.

“Okay, but that's not fair, your room is—“

“My _room_ is next to Cherri Cola,” Valentine snapped, “and it's currently no-vacancy.”

“You know what? You're right, it _was_ next to him, but he's got Kobra Kid and you're just being a bitter ass,” clearly Collision had had enough of the pity party, which was saying something, given how long-suffering he was. “I didn't just kiss you because I feel bad for you, man; I did it because I'm...”

The sudden stop was like whiplash for the exhausted killjoy. He shifted back against the driver's side door and looked his normally-placid friend up and down. It was dark, so it was hard to say what color Collision's face was, but it looked fairly red. Static Collision gathered himself and finished the sentence.

“I'm in love with you.”

“Yeah, you...said that.”

“No,” Collision contested, “I said I _love_ you, I didn't say I was _in_ love...”

Of course Toxic Valentine had been listening before. He knew Collision wasn't the kind of guy to throw that word around willy nilly. Part of him had been hoping it was a heat of the moment sort of gesture. His kiss in response was only natural in his mind. But now, knowing this, he was unsure how to proceed.

“No one's ever... been in love with me,” Valentine mumbled, eyes downcast once more. The weird feeling from earlier had returned, that sensation of being _able_ to love someone, but not necessarily loving them just yet.

“Well, y'know, join the club or whatever...”

There was nothing Valentine could do or say to refute this. The despair in Collision's voice was momentarily all-encompassing. It hit Valentine like a freight train, enveloping him completely.

“I'm not...ready,” Valentine mumbled, turning and grasping the door handle.

“You were ready to fuck just now,” Collision growled, grasping Valentine's upper arm.

“That's not the same,” Valentine hissed, tugging away and tossing himself out the now-open door and into the chilly night. His emotions were in a tumult and his head was spinning. Valentine stumbled a few feet and only saved himself hitting the sand by grasping the side of his truck as he went down.

Collision was at his side in moments, grasping him and manhandling him upward. The man's breath was hot on Valentine's ear and he could practically feel his friend's heartbeat—or was that his own?

“You're going to start hemorrhaging again if you keep this shit up,” Collision snarled, heaving Valentine toward the back of his truck wherein he said he kept blankets. He didn't relish sleeping out under the stars, but Valentine would surely put up a struggle if he tried to take the skunk-haired killjoy back.

With one motion of a corded arm, Collision opened the tailgate and ushered Valentine to lean thereupon. Collision could see the roll of blankets near the cab of the truck. It was covered in a tarp, wrapped tightly to protect from moisture. The knots were meant to be tugged free which Static Collision did and began to craft a makeshift bed in the back of Valentine's truck.

“Thank you,” Toxic Valentine mumbled weakly, white knuckles shaking against the metal of the tailgate. He was going to fall right over if he didn't get horizontal quickly.

“You're my friend,” Collision responded simply, “and I love you, so... c'mon.”

He hopped down from the bed—which was now a lovely double entendre—and proceeded to help Valentine up. Valentine crawled the rest of the way and flopped listlessly onto the pillows. He was a resourceful, and did not appreciate sleeping without something soft under his head. Static Collision joined him, slipping an arm under the crook of his lanky friend's neck and drawing him closer.

Valentine melted against Collision, limp and useless as a rag doll. Utter exhaustion had taken over and he found himself drifting away from the agony of consciousness. This left Collision awake for a time to stare up at the stars and pretend for a second Valentine was next to him by choice.

Maybe someday...

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally intended to be the lead up to another KobraCola, but I'm on the one-way train to hate myself ville with this one-sided jalex shit. Look forward to more of this crapola in my California 2019 series... a series which I have just created but FOR which I have many works. They're not in any particular order, so don't take that as a guidline. Love y'all.


End file.
